Archives: January 2003
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This has been a very political week for me.
First, there was the French politics discussion I made the mistake of taking part in over at at what is supposed to be an ironical/satirical site, but often comes across as down-right ignorant (slanted ever so slightly to the super-duper right, I might add). I am laid back and can take a joke, but some jokes aren't funny. They're racist, xenophobic, culturally unaware, or extremely offensive. Just my opinion.
Then there was the downloading and *wince* watching of the State of the Union address, an experience which I have yet to express accurately here.
There has since been a lot of researching and debating, as well as obsessive mulling and muttering.
And today, I went to go see Last Party 2000.
Has this come out in the US? If so, why isn't anyone talking about it? Anybody interested in politics should go see it. Although the root idea was to make a documentary about the 2000 elections, it turned out more to be a film about the marginalized groups, opinions, political figures, and voices that cannot possibly enter American politics with any sort of impact. Why? Because American politics are centered around cash and influence, and a person like you or me has nothing compared to a big, smiling Texan with oil practically spouting out his shiny, pampered white ass. Essentially, America is based on the democratic principle that its citizens actively participate in the government's decisions by voting, but this is quickly revealed as an illusion once we take time out to consider our government's behavior.
Why does everybody clap so much during the State of the Union address? I just watched it (yes - I downloaded it, printed the transcript, and took notes. Is that a problem?) and I could hardly friggin' concentrate because all those wankers kept clapping. After every. Single. Sentence. Could they just shut up and let Mr. the Prezdent speak?
I have a whole slew of things I have stocked up to say, but I have to dilly dally out my door now, so that will have to come along later. Check back for further details.
Until then, look at this picture of the Three White Guys (click the itty bitty image for the big one). Aren't they just as unattractive as they come? In fact, Georgie comes out as the hottest amongst them. How terrifying.
And for those who watched it, why did Bush wink and chuckle to himself while speaking about Medicare? That was sketchy.
Hold your horses, team. I am working on a doozie for your reading pleasure that should be up by tomorrow or, at the latest, the day after. If you haven't already read the previous post, do so now. Or else my doozie is going to be a flop.
Meanwhile, contemplate three things:
1. Who are these people that keep looking for info on "snowsuit peeing" on my site? What other sort of information could you need besides the fact that you peed in your snowsuit? (I have had six people come to odessastreet from that google search because I happened to mention peeing in my snowsuit as a childhood memory on the about page)
and
2. Couldn't George Bush have gone to modeling school to learn to not walk like such an idiot? The stupid excuse doesn't apply here. I am sure there are plenty of models that are stupid, but they still WALK respectably. Bush looks like he just got hit with the dodgeball at recess, peed his pants, and is walking back to the classroom for naptime with some of it dribbling down his leg.
and
3. On a much more serious note, you should all go check out the Mile of Death Gallery - unseen images from the Gulf War (opens in another window). It is an important thing to see. After all that talk for all this time about journalistic pools and control of coverage by the US military, these pictures are pretty shocking. When you get there, you can just scroll down and enter the gallery directly, or you can read the photojournalist's little blurb. It is a wortwhile visit, even if disturbing. (link provided by acerbia.com, who got it from somebody else)
My friend Tia over at Croissant Living, put up a really interesting piece that she had received in an email from a friend in the US.
I am posting it here out of curiousity: What do you think of it?
(info about the author is in the comments. I don't want it to affect your opinion while reading)
To Kill an American...
You probably missed it in the rush of news last week, but there was actually a report that someone in Pakistan had published in a newspaper an offer of a reward to anyone who killed an American, any American.
[Somebody] wrote the following to let everyone know what an American is, so they would know when they found one:
Signs that One Is Getting Old at 23:
1. Staying up all night is a difficult and painful task. The fun and excitement of an all-night party/study-session (we all know that study-sessions were never really for studying)/giggle-fest/etc loses way quickly to heavy eyelids, the desire to get up early in the morning, and an uncontrollable physical need to get in bed.
2. The cleanliness of one's home is an important and much discussed issue. One's self-worth is, in part, measured by one's ability to remain organized and tidy.
3. Crossword puzzles are more fun than nightclubs.
4. The discovery of the online Noam Chomsky archive is perhaps that most exciting event of the week (month? year?).
5. Computers are a fun, new world. Who knew that they could do such marvelous things?
6. Balanced meals are a priority. Attention is paid to vitamins, nutrients, fat, and cholesterol. Beans are voluntarily added as a compliment to any meal.
7. Bowel movements are openly discussed as indication of a healthy or unhealthy lifestyle, as opposed to the more youthful manner of discussing the subject, as in "Ugh...dude, somebody totally laid a gnarly egg over there."
8. Mr. Clean's lemon-scented wipes become an exciting addition to one's cleaning supplies.
9. In a cafe or restaurant, the shrieks and exclamations of hormone-crazy teenagers is so aggravating that one has had to leave on several occasions.
10. Fashion? Pop music? MTV? Nah... wearing last year's gear, listening to that Rolling Stones album, and the BBC sound much more appealing.
Can we talk frankly about something? I need to talk about breasts and their required accessories. So if you're my dad, or my brother, or some other male relative in my family, you can just move on.
But I need to get something off my chest. I really did just write that without even meaning to make a pun.
This all started when the boyf (yes, I read once in a teen magazine the term "boyf," and it has stuck with me ever since. Isn't it horrible? The term was used, in fact, in the following phrase: "My boyf and I went to go get some fro-yo.") told me that I should buy a Wonderbra. Because they are so cute and girly, apparently. And because my bras aren't.
The problem was that he didn't know: Wonderbras are for girls that need that extra oomph. That push (up). That hee-hee-hee, haw-haw-haw (said in the voice of the cook in "The Little Mermaid). If all of his ex's were in DIRE need of a Wonderbra, well, I can't blame them for not bringing up the exact function of such a gadget on a daily basis. But that doesn't mean I suffer from the same...um...issue. To be blunt, I don't need fancy machinery to develop my cleavage for me. Instead, my life is a constant battle to keep the twins under control.
See, we can simplify things by saying that the Wonderbra is so entitled because it creates mini-wonders. Or so I have heard.
And I am ssoooo down with chicks that get in on that Wonderbra action. Go for it, hot stuff, if that's what you so desire.
But they just don't make Wonderbras in my size, and if I had much more push I would topple over. And Victoria's secret doesn't make bras in my size either. And neither do any of the cute brands. This is ostracism. Or marketing.
Whatever it is, the conclusion is the same: I shop on the Wall.
Read more »Isn't it always funny how wrong you can be about people? You see a snippet of someone's life, two or three times a week, and you think you can actually sum up their personality/behavior/lifestyle? Don't think you know, because you don't. People will always sneak up and surprise you.
This evening, S and I went to go hang out at our former professor's house for a drink. I don't know how this happened, but I got the invite about an hour or so before we arrived at the Prof's front door. Already, I have never been to a professor's house just for a drink around ten. Weirder still was his house. It was nothing as I had expected. It had no chairs. Just a rug on the floor with some pillows (small ones), and then a flatscreen satelile TV in the middle of it all.
He said he just never got into chairs.
Walking home, S and I had the following conversation:
Me: God, I really hadn't pictured him to live in a house with no chairs. That was quite a surprise. I mean, I don't know why, but by the way he carries himself, and the way he dresses, and his job...I just figured...I just figured...
S: Yeah, he wears really nice, super snazy suits and stuff. With classy hats.
L: Yeah. The two just don't correspond at all. I had been expecting steamlined, metal-type...you know....::flailing hands around aimlessly while trying to find the words to describe the furniture I had expected:::...
S: You mean nicer, more modern Ikea?
L: Exactly. That is exactly what I meant.
First, it was uncanny how well S pinned that one. That really was exactly what I had pictured. Lots of high-tech computer equipment on a big high-tech piece of furniture that was very sleak and classy and new and shiny. But original, too. Not like Ikea where it's often pretty obvious that it's from Ikea (I am, by the way, not dissing Ikea. If I had the money or the means, I would go a-runnin' to that store and shove my little euros into their Swedish corporate hands). To get more precise: let's say, oh, for those that are in the decorating know, we'll call this style simply Habitat, because that what it comes down to in the end.
Really. So when you are expecting nicer, more modern Ikea, or Habitat, as the case may be - a lack of chairs, a plethora of African masks, and smuggled-in Serbian bootleg liquor come as quite a surprise.
This from a guy in his late 40's(?) who regularly wears three-piece suits (white ones, at that) and smokes a pipe.
Read more »PromoGuy.net does these Monday Mission things. And I like things that make me think, and make me think that maybe other people think that I think some interesting things.
So he writes questions and you answer them. I'm a-gonna try it now.
1. Friday I wrote about "People I Can Do Without." How about adding to the list with a few people you can live without? - Hm...this is fun. Women who sigh really loudly/bitch really loudly in grocery stores when the lines is too long. We're all in the same boat here, lady. Men who do the same, but get even more agressive about it. There's no need for that here, sir. People who complain in restaurants. People who carry umbrellas and don't consider the possibility of poking out someone else's eyes. Criminals (without an acceptable excuse, mind you). People who scream really loudly down my street at six or seven am. People who get really drunk and then bother me on the street or in the metro or in the bus. People working for the French government that try to retain me at every step of any sort of official process. I could go on but I'll stop there.
2. Have you ever felt like someone truly respected you? What does being respected mean to you personally? - Good God, I should hope everyone answering this has at least felt respected a few times in their life. As far as what it means personally, I think it's the norm, and disrespect it the exception. Just as I do to others.
3.In (past or current) relationships, what is the "one thing" your partner would change about you if they could? - Hm. I think he thinks I am a little hot-tempered.
4. Have you ever tried to change who you are to please someone? How did that turn out? - Not conciously. But I think anyone that says, "Oh no, I am always myself" is somewhat full of it. We naturally change ourselves/our behavior depending on the person we are with. That's normal. Our personalities are quite fluid, when you get down to it, once you consider how different you carry yourself with, for example, your boss, your baby cousin, your neighbor three flights down, your significant other, your grandma, and your wildest, craziest friend.
5. Do you believe in love at first sight? Can it really happen?*
* Question courtesy of Fadi - There are always those miracle stories. I think I believe in chemistry between people, be it sexual or mental chemistry. And you can have both at the same time. If that last for years and years, then people will call it love at first sight. And that's not really wrong. But I also think the phrase is overused.
6. Today is "Martin Luther King Jr. Day" in the United States. King's non-violent protests against unequal treatment of African-American people led to radical change in America, and ultimately, his assassination in 1968. How have Rev. King's accomplishments impacted or influenced your life? - Hard to say. Having been born sixteen years after his assasination and having only grown up in an open-minded family in the post-MLK era, I can't say I could imagine how life would have been otherwise. So I'll just say that his life has probably affected mine in more ways that I can know.
7. In America, our President declared yesterday to be "National Sanctity of Life Day." While it enacts no change in policy or program, it does allow our country's leader to make a declarative statement about abortion. How do you feel when you hear about a government taking a position such as this? First of all, what the hell does that mean, "National Sanctity of Life Day?" Is this going to be annual?
So why should a big, rich, dumbass like Bush play any roll in declaring what should be of a pregnant woman's future?
Bush cannot possibly know what abortion can mean for a woman and how difficult it can be to finally make a choice to have one. What he does know is that he has to convince the conservative (just barely) majority in the US that he is fit to continue as president by 2004.
10 Reasons My Sister Rules
1. She's even taller than I am (score!)
2. She's a badass bike chick (not the Harley Davidson kind, but the kind that uses their own legs to provide the power needed to get from A to B)
3. She has a great motto: "I'll always do anything once."
4. She travelled all over the world by herself. And has been several places since.
5. Oh, yeah, and she's just ridiculously intelligent (even if this has created a few Big Shadow/Little Sister complexes in yours truly).
6. Dude, she knows how to quilt.
7. She is this site's most loyal reader. And provides quite a bit of content.
8. She is so there for people she loves. Just, whoa, like, 100%.
9. She talks with her hands just as much as I do. And, although there is some debate on this issue, I argue that she talks as much as I do in general.
10. She's frickin' hiliarious.
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Just a big hommage to my sister. She's the best. Good vibes over the internet to you, babycakes.
So I am in a bitter mood today as an offshoot of the emotional truck that hit me yesterday. Happens. Especially because I couldn't fall asleep until 8 am last night/this morning. But in a sick way, I am ok in my bitterness today. That happens sometimes, too. It's called acceptance. Or at least it isn't called denial.
When I am feeling bitter, the correct music is key. Funny thing is, I have come to realize that it must have been a long time since I was last bitter, because I can't seem to find my bitter music. So I went to Imesh and rectified the situation. Now I am revelling in my bitterness.
Which brings me to my next two points:
1. Who, amongst my readers, knows the group/guy Andrew WK? Right. Apparently they/he is very big. I went to junior high with Andrew. I went to his web site the other day, and it was very strange. He's all grown up now. And famous, it seems. So then I went and downloaded some of his stuff, you know, to support him or something. I always liked him in middle school, even if he did create the meanest club against one of my friends. Besides that rather serious mark on his otherwise spotless permanent record, he was one of the only boys in middle school that seemed to be of any quality. But man, that web site! And that infernal racket! What the hell? Check it out, anyway at either awk world or read a pretty good article about him at Dusted. Andrew still seems like the guy he was back in the day, for as much as I knew him. And he also seems to be a pretty dedicated "rock star." I just am hung up on the superficial things, I'll admit it. Like his haircut.
2. Totally unrelated. For those of you that have Outlook Express, have you ever noticed the cheesy background image on your entry page? I just noticed it today, which is weird because I usually end up noticing all the useless things in life inintentionally. But, this background is sooo annoying. Did they have to choose glasses, a pen, and what I am guessing is envelopes? Wouldn't it have been better to have just left it an agreable white?
So, I sort of feel like I have been hit with an emotional truck today. Moments like these, I take Julie Andrews' advice. Here is a list of things that make me smile. It can come in handy. Feel free to add.
1. Lite Brite
2. Playing cards with my family
3. Bubble baths
4. When people mix up words, like saying "flutter by" when you mean to say "butterfly" or, most recently, when I proclaimed very loudly (in response to yesterday's post) that "donds aren't blumb!" - Blonds aren't dumb.
5. Any wild, crazy girls'-night-out and the hundreds of memories that go with them
6. Beverly Cleary - "Ramona the Great" and "Socks" specifically
7. The cute old ladies at the grocery store that always sheepishly ask me to get them something off the high-up shelf. The last one was particularly adorable when she exclaimed, "What luck! Oh, to be tall!" as she walked away giggling to herself
8. Kara
9. Strep throat medicine that tasted like bubble gum
10. My brother and sister's infamous magic show.
11. Sleepovers as a little kid
12. Office supplies
13. Warm cookies (preferably chocolate chip) and milk
14. Sitting on the beach in Marseilles with Kathy
15. Porch swings (especially at 502 Crest Ave)
16. 7th grade dances and the zombie dance that girls did with boys and vice versa
17. My Dad reading me "The Mighty Casey At Bat" (not sure if that's the real title, but it's the title in my head) in the recliner in our old house when I was a tyke.
18. Playing "house" in the elementary school jungle gym
19. Mad libs
20. "Choose Your Own Adventure"
21. I was down and lonely once and my brother wrote me a note. It said, "I'm sorry Lee, let's ::drawing of a bee:: friends."
22. Mackinac Island fudge
23. Capri Sun
24. Picnics
25. The 1991 Bulls-Pistons final
26. Leaves in Michigan in the fall
27. When a freshly weened child kept pointing to my breasts with her hand, sort of grabbing them, saying "What's that?" over and over and over again. Her father said, "Uh, sorry. She's just been weened. She's still a little attached to the ah...the female bosom."
28. All the regulars at my greasy spoon diner where I waitressed: Sandy, Laverne, the Chicken Soup Couple, the Crazy Caffeine Dude, the Family of Three, the Antique Dealers, the Milligans, Pat, the Chain Smokers, the Market Boys (Jaimie, Tom). I've got a soft spot in my heart for all of them.
29. My first cassette player
30. People that look like their dogs and dogs that look like their people
31. The doctor that gave us Snackwell's cookies after each visit (vanilla flavored).
32. Clifford, that big red dog
33. Road trips
34. The bridges in Paris
35. Wearing matching pants/overalls/shoes, etc as one's friends in elementary school. We went so far as to have matching backpacks.
36. The song "Her Majesty" on the Beatles' Abbey Road album.
37. Sledding
38. Mysteriously bad fashion trends: pegging your pants, scrunchies, high hair (I never could do that), purple/pink/blue eyeshadow, acid-washed pants, Hammer pants, Hypercolor shirts...
39. Jump rope ("Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear turn all around, Teddy Bear Teddy Bear touch the ground...")
40. The first sunny, warm day of every year
41. My fourth grade teacher
42. My dad's bowl cuts for us three kids (we still have photos)
43. MacGyver - he's so clever
44. A good brisk walk on a cold day, followed by a cup of tea
45. Campfires and Smores
46. Calvin and Hobbes - and their understood love for one another
47. Snuggling
48. Rolypolies (I have no idea how to spell that)
49. Winks (as long as they're not from creepy old men)
50. A long, giggly conversation on the phone with a good friend
There's a new ad out in France. It's a billboard ad, but the billboards here sort of scroll up and down so that the billboard space can hold three or four different advertisements in it that change every few seconds.
Regardless of what they say, advertising works. I notice it. I remember ads, and I have favorites and not-so-favorites.
Here's a not-so-favorite:
1st scrolling billboard -
A picture of a blond (with a horrible haircut...all you see is hair, no eyes). Above her and across the length of the billboard is written, "What do blonds dream of?" Underneath, as if in response, it says, "At least seven minutes of intelligence per day." To the right of the blond is a picture of what I assume is a frozen meal that takes seven minutes to reheat. It is called "Irresistibol" (because it's in a bowl, you see)
2nd scrolling billboard -
A picture of a brunette (with an equally horrid haircut). Above her and again, across the length of the billboard, is written "What the secret of brunettes?" Underneath, in response, is the same "At least seven minutes of intelligence per day." The same product is advertised to the right.
So...ok, I get it, blonds are dumb and brunettes are smart. We've heard that before. But c'mon, not only is this ad annoying to blonds (which I am, at least in the summertime), but doesn't a woman's intelligence come from something other than her ability to cook up a frozen meal in seven minutes?
I usually don't get heated up about these kinds of things, but this ad is everywhere. Scrolling and scrolling, simultaneously making fun of blonds and insulting women in general.
I have this theory: in a group of female friends, each lady corresponds to a particular Golden Girl. There are some people who waver between two characters, others who are clearly just Rose, and some who are only borderline Dorothy. But really, in any group of friends, there are never two Blanches, a Dorothy and a Sophia. Or two Sophias and two Roses. In a group of four, there is always a Dorothy, a Sophia, a Blanche, and a Rose. So which Golden Girl would you be?
I get Blanche most often. Blanche?
***editorial note: when looking for the pic above, I fell upon the "Which Golden Girl are you?" quiz on their web site (Lifetime). Guess what? I am Blanche.
Take the quiz (it's sort of halfway down the screen)
The Boy and I are at friend's house having dinner with him and his (we don't know if she still is or not) girlfriend. There is another couple there, obviously a bit older but agreable nonetheless, and another woman who leaves early because of migraines. The older couple takes off as well, leaving just the four of us.
Christian tells us that in fact the wife in the couple that just left spends every weekend at her lover's house in the Alps, while her husband stays at home with the kids. Her husband, who seemed to be a kind, kind soul (unlike his wife, and I am thinking this before before I even hear the story) pretends that she isn't doing anything, even though she openly says to Christian 'My boyfriend this' and 'My boyfriend that' when her husband isn't there. Additionally, she has inherited a great fortune from her family, which permits her husband not to work and her children to be clothed. So neither person will leave the other, but the situation is still backwards and twisted.
This said, when Christian is describing the situation, he says something along the lines of 'Yeah, and I just think it is so noble of him to give up his job and stay home to raise the kids while she does goes off and sleeps with whomever she pleases.'
Ella, the other woman present in our quartet - she's British - says 'I don't see what's so noble about it. If the roles were inversed, you wouldn't say, "Wow, and I just think it's so noble that she stays home with the kids while her husband goes off and sleeps with other women."
Both of the guys - one Frenchie and one African - admittedly say "No, I wouldn't say that. Because that's just normal. Of course she would stay home with the kids, somebody has to."
At least they are honest. But isn't something off here?
***Aside - am I a judgemental bitch if I can't respect somebody who says that Bryan Adams is their favorite singer?***
This evening's dinner conversation (really):
From the BBC - A man has confessed to murdering and eating another man who allegedly volunteered to be killed, in a case that has shocked Germany.
The 41-year-old - who was remanded in custody on Wednesday - videotaped the murder, prosecutors said.
The victim, also in his 40s, was chopped into pieces at the killer's home in the central German town of Rotenburg, near Kassel.
Prosecutors in Kassel said the accused and the victim were apparently homosexuals who shared cannibalistic tendencies.
The German daily Bild reports that the victim, from Berlin, had seen an advertisement on the internet which said: "Seeking young, well-built men aged 18 to 30 to slaughter."
The victim, a computer engineer, then sold all his possessions including a car before disappearing, the paper reports.
The state prosecutor's office in Kassel said the man died from deep cuts to the neck. The killer then chopped up the body and kept the parts in his fridge.
Police believe the murder occurred in spring 2000.
They found deep-frozen human flesh, skeleton parts and video recordings at the scene.
Neighbour Joerg Paulusen, speaking to Reuters TV, said of the killer: "It was sort of clear to us that he had a different perspective on life than we did, but he was a normal person, to speak to him, drink a glass of beer with him - just like you and me."
The last alleged case of cannibalism in Germany was when a 33-year-old man on trial for robbery and murder in March 1995 claimed to have eaten his victim's innards, although his claim was never proven, the AFP news agency reports.
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Whoa. Freaky to me that the article's style is so deadpan. "Just the facts, ma'am, just the facts."
I am busy today teaching myself some more computer stuff. I think that's why I surprisingly) like this crap: I learn on my own and actually get somewhere. It's a rewarding feeling. Sometimes I almost think I can physically feel the brain making connections. Ah ha moments. Love them. I always used to want this to happen in math class, figuring that if I went through the entire textbook equation by equation, I would eventually understand. That never worked. But with computer stuff, you just have to go slow (Fela style) and not space out, and you'll pretty much understand. In case you don't, just make sure you have back-up. It's not rocket science, which is, in all honesty, news to me. I thought it would be too hard for me.
So, today I am just leaving you with a string of useless thoughts, not nearly as coherent or cohesive as yesterday's post:
1) Today I took a bus to go to the Sorbonne. While waiting, I was doing the typical keep warm-dance: hop from foot to foot while rubbing mittened or gloved hands together. Parisians don't do this, it doesn't look elegant enough for them, but I am neither Parisian nor elegant so I can get away with it. I was not totally sure if the bus I was taking would be the best option, so I was hopping around and spacing out on the bus map on the back "wall" of the covered stop. I turned around and there was a stopped bus right in front of me. Startled, I ran to the front of it to see what number it was. Oh! 89! That's me, I thought, and then I hopped one, two to the door and lept inside. The busdriver, who had undoubtedly watched my entire hopping/spacing dance and the following expressions of surprise, was trying to control his giggles. Realizing the goofiness of my little combo act, I smiled a big (genuine) smile at him, and his face split into a grin while he let out a giggly "Bonjour, Mademoiselle." I stifled my giggles all the way back to my seat. It is great when the mundane is broken up by perfect strangers, and great when somebody in a rather monotonous profession manages to find the humor in things nonetheless.
2) Paris is getting a makeover. I don't know how this is being financed, but it seems everyday, there is a new building being restored. The Prefacture de Police was completed before the fall, and a week or so ago I noticed that its neighbor across the street - the Palais de Justice - is already halfway done. Notre Dame is a gleaming, shiny white (and I honestly never saw what the big deal was about it until after they did the restoration). The entire street of the rue St-Jacques, where the majority of the Sorbonne's buildings are located, is one long, majestic street of starchy whiteness. Even two buildings on Odessa Street have been restored. For those of you not familiar with Paris, you have to understand that these are just massive, massive buildings. Huge. American cities don't have the problem of 100+ year-old buildings turning a carbon-like color with a few exceptions. But now, when the newly restored building and its neighbor are compared, the difference is, well, stark. The entire city is looking newer and brighter, it is absolutely beautiful. Parisians are such aesthetians.
2) That said, four homeless people have died in Paris of cold since the "vague froid" hit the city at the beginning of this week. That is such a horrible way to die. Even if the restoration is absolutely gorgeous, could there maybe be a way to divide the money more evenly? Nevertheless, Paris is one of the few cities I know that opens several metro stops per night to offer beds and food to the homeless during.
3) Totally unrelated: I had a dream the other night that my parents and I were at the airport. My Dad was sitting in the special club place reserved for frequent flyers while my Mom and I went out to get some Cinnabon or something. When we came back, Dad was sitting with some of his coworkers, and they were all passing around a joint. He exhaled, and I said, "Dad, is that reefer?" and he said, "Heh, well, yeah." Moment of silence. "I didn't know you smoked weed, Dad," I said. And he said, in total and complete honesty, "Well, I don't. But Carol here (motions to coworker) had some that she was willing to share with us and I thought, 'Eh, why not?'" It was so atypical of my father. And of my Mom who just gave a little chuckle and lightheartedly said, "Oh, ok...Lee and I are gonna go watch CNN over there."
Pop music promises a morbid future for us musicphiles. This is my gut feeling. So do not ask my further opinion of any bikini-clad pop star if you are not prepared for a heated argument about the shortcomings of today's pop scene.
I just popped into a recent post on dooce.com, an entertaining, well-written site that was, perhaps, the first weblog that I took a regular interest in reading. It helped that at the time I discovered it, I was doing an internship for an online film magazine, spending many hours in front of a computer with internet acces. But whatever...the facts are there: it's a great site and there are plenty of people who would back me up on this.
The proof: Dooce's post yesterday called in 198 comments, the highest amount I have ever spotted online. Today's post is (only) in the 90's, but I found it more fascinating than yesterday's. Little Miss Dooce spoke, in part, of her contempt for the new artist Avril Lavrigne, whose music I have yet to hear. I have, however, read a Newsweek article that eluded to her as being the icon of a growing Spice-Girls-style girl-power-movement-gone-grunge. Grunge, it seems, because Avril prefers sneakers, t-shirts, and - oddly - neckties to tight skirts, breast implants, and tube tops.
Ok. I don't see what all the fuss is about. She looks like Axl Rose to me, and haven't we done that already? And wasn't that called "heavy metal" at the time?
Regardless, Dooce's argument comes partially out of her love for Britney Spears, which is admittedly (albeit not overtly) based on Britney's image more than on her questionable musical skills. And she despises Avril for cashing in on all those girls that want to rebel in response to Britney's flashy red space suit, lustrous blond hair, and beaming sexuality out of a need for a more "safe alternative" to Britney. That is to say, maybe for those girls that aren't as cozy with a little bit of skin and sex, well, Avril is a welcomed quasi-asexualized option in the sea of young pop stars. In reality, both stars are doing the same thing: selling an image and not music. At least, to some degree, Britney is honestly superficial without trying to suggest outrageous things like actually having some sort of musical talent.
As Dooce said in her post: "Those people are bragging that Avril is writing her own music and playing her own instruments, and I'm like, since when did our pop stars need to do anything of that sort? If a pop star wrote her own music or played her own instruments she wouldn't be a pop star. She'd be a musician."
Unfortunately, I agree with her.
And then I got to reminiscing. Do you remember when pop music was actually something meant to last? Pop meant simply "popular," but not necessarily "popular for the under 25 age group with lots of money to spend" aka "profitable market" aka "flash in th epan." Let's face it: to teenagers, image counts. And part of one's image is defined by his musical taste. The majority of teenagers don't get into the complexity of music, nor do they appreciate Italian opera or Celtic chants. Most of them are just looking to listen to what their friends are listening to, to establish some sort of communal music taste, and to go out en masse to buy the stuff. They are a marketer's dream.
But why does that mean that said "stuff" has to be trash? Let me cite some well-known earlier generation pop examples: the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, the Doors. This is music people still listen to today, and it was also geared towards the younger, rebellious types of their day. Yet I highly doubt that a 24-year-old Cleveland undergrad student of today is listening to the Rolling Stones because he or she thinks Mick Jagger is hot. We've all seen him age. There must be some sort of musical talent stuck between those platinum vinyl grooves.
So when did we make the switch? When did pop became a word synonomous with "massively selling crap based on music videos and sex appeal"?
I'll give you my opinion, and then I want to hear yours: I think Michael Jackson signals the fossilization of the pop-still-equals-music era, and Madonna represents the beginning of our beloved pop-is-all-based-on-bra-size modern day. Coincidentally, their careers began and have slowed at approximatly the same time, although one can argue that Madonna has saved a bit more face (in more ways than one) than MJ has while in decline. Conclusion: we started going wrong in 1983 and hit the point of no return by 1996. Ah, an unlucky thirteen years.
Read more »Ok, so it's winter and I understand that. And yes, Parisian winters are more mild than Michigan winters, and I don't know what the hell I am complaining about. But good God, I am freezing.
I'm naturally cold. Very cold. To the point now where it is actually starting to affect my daily life. And worry me.
The problem around here is that my heating is electric. And this might be alright in the US where electricity is one-third the price of French electricity, but I have no option. We have to save electricity in order to eat. Overdramatic, maybe. Very expensive, yes. The other problem around here is that our apartment is on the last floor, which means it is right below the roof. And, despite its small size, it has two chimneys (handy little bookshelves, really). These chimneys are, by law, not usable - too many small domestic fires. Their original purpose has been replaced by its antithesis: cold air comes shooting down, angry that the warm, snuggly air is not working its way up. There is also another "chimney" in my kitchen that opens straight up to the heavens, so that when it rains, my electric stove/oven below is covered with hundreds of little acid raindrops. Saturday, when it sleeted/snowed, well, I had that in my house, too. On several occasions, in better times (ie warm, summer days) I have found pigeon shit there (rest assured: I cook on the other electric two-burner stove - far away from possible outdoor interference).
Combined, this leads to a drafty, drafty house. And those extended Beanie Baby-type things that you set in front of your doors aren't going to slow these drafts down. Nothing will. I would need several Beanie Sumo Men to stop these Icelandic winds. And my apartment is just not big enough to hold five sumo wrestlers.
When I sit and work in front of the computer, I wear three sweaters, two pairs of socks (one wool), with slippers, and my new, fabulous scarf. My medium-thick blanket is pulled over my legs. I pull the heater up next to me. That's right: I got dibs on the fresh heat.
This is, by the way, not in any way shape or form, exagerrated. This is really how I work. I am one step away from putting on my gloves. I just worry about typing.
I cook myself up two or three cups of tea a day. Darjeeling is my current favorite, although I'll slip in a cup of mint if I am trying to avoid the caffeine intake. I'll be warm for about fifteen minutes, but then the constant need to run to the ladies' sets in. All that heat that I worked for so long to trap in the chair/blanket/scarf/heater corner is lost in one fell swoop. So I drink my tea and suppress the urge for as long as possible. Physically uncomfortable, maybe, but less painful than frostbite.
I carefully plan my showers. I must not shower before leaving my house for the day. Going outside with wet hair will set the cold machine in motion, and it will refuse to stop until I get in my bed at night.
And speaking of my bed, could there possibly be a bed any colder than mine? Sure, after 42 minutes, when the combined heat of two shivering, warm-blooded individuals under a down comforter has accumulated to an acceptable level, I can sleep. But those 42 minutes are spent whining, yelping and cursing the bed, house, and cold weather in general.
My boyfriend, who is naturally hot, wears two thick sweaters and a t-shirt when around the house, along with socks and slippers at all times. For him, this is sufficient. I emply all the aforementioned solutions to this cold problem in an attempt to make this winter bearable. But you know what? I am still friggin' freezing. And its not even February yet.
Read more »When I flew back to the States for Christmas, the jetlag was actually bearable. On the first day, I woke up at 4.30 am, but after that, I was pretty much doing the 6.30-7 am thing, and I liked it. It is far better to wake upat 7.00 am and to have a whole day ahead of you than to wake up at 12.00 pm and only have half the afternoon and half the night.
When I came back to France, I had that crazy lots-of-flying/New Year's/no sleep experience that lasted roughly 40 hours. On Jan 1, I finally ended up going to bed at 9.00 am, and waking up arouind 18.30. And I have been totally backwards ever since.
Until yesterday, I had been living nocturnally for almost a week. That is no way to live. Especially when you have things to do (which have actually been kept to a minimum for the last week, but will pick up again at the end of this one).
Sunday, after waking up at 16.00, I couldn't take it anymore. I decided to do something about it. So I stayed up all night Sunday and all day Monday. I was a total wreck by 13.00 Monday, barely able to get out coherent sentences. By 19.00, I collapsed into bed, 27 hours after having gotten out of it.
Now it is Tuesday. I woke up, after a healthy nine hours of sleep, at 4.00 am. I don't mind. I figure by tomorrow that will even itself out to six am, and things will be back in order.
But, I woke up this morning thinking about odessastreet. I have decided to change the tune around here. I think I have been too guarded, too impersonal. I don't want this site to be entirely dedicated to weird web finds or to interesting anecdotes from the newspaper. This is a personal web site, and I am giong to make it personal - or at least somewhat more so.
I came to this decision because I remember reading someone close to me's web site, and really enjoying reading her personal stories/perspectives/feelings. Web sites can be, if well done, an interesting way to present a new facet of oneself. Why should I keep myself from doing so?
Some people - those I don't know personally - stumbling across this site might think, "What the hell? Why is this chick writing about stuff nobody cares about?" however, there are a few personal sites that I read where, even if I don't know the author him or herself, the stories are interesting and I feel I can relate to them. Check out some of the links on the right to see what I mean.
And in all honesty, this site is really for myself. Don't get me wrong - I love having people read it and talk to me about it and give me feedback. But I didn't create this web site for any particular audience, or for any particular reason, really, other than to give myself a little place to nurture like I would my garden - were I to have one.
I suppose this decision somewhat worries me. How do I define what is personal and what is too personal? And how much do I want others to know about me? These are bridges to cross when I come to them, and for now I am just excited to get started.
This is just absolute folly. New layout, new content, new year.
Sigh.
So, as part of my "new" site, I am presenting to you a list of New Year's resolutions. This, too, is new to me, as I have never made such a list before. It has always seemed ridiculous, a means of setting oneself up for disaster. But you know what? It's almost five am, and things don't open in Paris until 10.00, so right now it seems like a pretty good idea.
Lee's First-Ever New Year's Resolutions List
1. Get a job: this may seem easy to some, but I live in France and I am not French, nor am I from the European Union. This is a big hurdle. Nevertheless, I am certified to teach English, which is a job in high demand. Most schools only want native speakers. This is also in my favor. I have sent out 30-40 resumes with no response. This is the moment to prove that I am a go-getter. A Carpe Diem situaion, if you will. I must assert myself and actively persue every possible job avenue to its limit. This is difficult for me because, to my recollection, until now, every job that I have applied for I have ended up getting. I therefore have not developed the proper skills to "sell myself" to a potential employer. This has been made abundantly clear by my current unemployed status.
2. Accept that I am at that ugly point in my life: I am 23. My friends that are the same age as I am and I are all lost, lost, lost. Post college blues? Too many options? Not enough? Fear of the real world?? Who knows. I am, yet again, in an awkward position. I have lived in France for the last three+ years. This is my home. My friends are here. My boyfriend is here. I have keys to a front door here. Yet, I am not allowed to stay here unless I am in school, or am hired by a high-end company to do high-end research (or something high-end in general). This is ok for now because I am happy being a student, and I want to continue on to graduate school. This was the original plan for this year, but after two weeks at my current school, I realized I had made a horrible mistake. This, I have also come to accept. Back up, rewind, review life goals and interests. What do I really want to be doing, where do I want to do it, and why? I am now applying for schools in France for next fall in a related yet slightly different field. Higher education in France is virtually free. This is a positive thing that should be exploited to its maximum. When people ask me things like, "Dude, how much longer are you going to be in school?" in an accusing tone, I should not get annoyed or angry. I should patiently remind myself that a) they do not and could not fully understand or empathize with my current situation and b) school is an excellent thing, especially when it is free and c) everyone has a period of transition.. I am allowed mine. Go easy on yourself.
3. Don't stress the small stuff: I believe I was much more chilled out when living in California. I suppose this is normal, given the difference between environments: living four blocks away from the beach versus living at one of the six or seven major Parisian hubs worse, on the corner of my street is a movie theater, which is constantly swarming with people waiting for, coming out of, or mulling over films showing). I think that I am, in general, a pretty laid-back person. But I have noticed one awful, horrible tendancy I have which I would like to control. When criticzed, I fly off the friggin' handle. And I mean, even the most minor criticism. I should look to control that. This partially comes from living with a Virgo. They are very critical people. I don't necessarily think that his criticisms are wrong, and I think he has a right to say them. I have just never been confronted with being close to somebody who will honestly criticize, no harm intended. This is probably because my friends are just too damn nice.
4. Make the social effort: I don't mean this only for my current social life, but I also mean it for remaining in contact with friends. I am pretty good about it, but I think I could be better. I think I should put myself out there more with people, tell them that I want to see them or miss them or love them or was thinking about them or whatever. Why not? Everybody likes to hear that. It's just a little difficult to say it. We all should, regardless.
and finally, 5. Remember how blessed I am: I think we all have a tendancy to forget it. I am particularly ungrateful, considering how lucky I really am. I still have my moments. But it is so easy to get caught up in the little daily chores and problems and errands and hugabaloo. Yesterday, while washing the dishes, I realized I couldn't really ask for more - except maybe a job - without sounding like a whiny brat. At base, I have a loving, caring, supportive family, with an amazing network of amazing friends. I have no serious emotional scars from my past. I have not battled depression, illness, or any other life-altering misfortune that could threaten my happiness. I have a a giving, wonderful boyfriend that supports me in all I do. Financial concerns are kept within the range of the bearable. I get to actively persue my own interests. I live in one of the world's most beautiful cities. I have a new supportive bed that has reduced my chronic back pain. I am in good physical and mental shape. Everyday, I get to speak a foreign language, and I am learning another. I eat balanced, semi-regular meals. I have health insurance. My home is small, yet comfortable. Somebody invented corrective lenses. I laugh everyday.
The following is taken from The Language Instinct, by Steven Pinker.
My dad, a big reader and a language freak like myself, suggested the book to me while I was home for Christmas. He loaded me down with language books, and I couldn't be more grateful. The Language Instinct is well written and easy to follow, while still remaining academic and informative. Hang on though, I am only halfway through; I don't feel qualified to give my official opinion just yet.
I do, however, want to share with you these goofs I found funny, actually taken from newspapers. They can be read two ways. It's a miracle to me the editors didn't see the second possible meanings:
- Yoko Ono will talk about her husband John Lennon who was killed in an interview with Barbara Walters.
- Two cars were reported stolent by the Groveton police yesterday
- Tonight's program discusses stress, exercise, nutrition, and sex with Celtic forward Scott Wedman, Dr. Ruth Westheimer, and Dick Cavett.
OR some headlines:
- New Housing for Elderly Not Yet Dead
- Chou Remains Cremated
- Hershey Bars Protest
- Complaints About NBA Referees Growing Ugly
- Reagan Wins on Budget, But More Lies Ahead
Well, the trip home was a success, but I never seemed to make it to a computer. It's really odd that in the land of computers and technology, I couldn't seem to get near one. But really, I was just so happy being with my family and friends, I don't think I would have used one had one been made available to me.
What a perfect trip. At my parents house in Michigan, the ground was greenish-yellow on Christmas Eve, and covered in four inches of snow by Christmas morning. Here's the 7.30 am photo of their front yard. It was certainly the ideal Christmas scene. And despite the fact that my family cooked far too many cookies (which required, of course, obligatory consumption), my trip back was pretty much perfect as well. My parents are the funniest, coolest people ever, by the way. Just thought I would get that in somewhere.
In the end, I managed to make it back to Paris in one piece. It took me several hours more than originally planned due to flight and weather conditions, but I made it. I ended up getting rerouted to Amsterdam, where I spent a jolly four hours catching up on sleep in a deserted terminal. Upon arrival in Paris, I found out that one of my bags hadn't made it. Such is my luck.
Exhausted from the trip, I walked in my front door at 20.10, kissed the Beau, dropped the bag (although I should have dropped two), and he said, "We're taking the 20.55 train to Brussels." We pushed the departure back an hour, but I managed to spend yet another successful New Year's Eve in Belgium.
We pulled into Brussels-Midi station around 23.20. After wandering the streets for awhile looking for a place to eat (I hadn't eaten a real meal since noon the previous day - at the airport). We suddenly realized that everybody was kissing and hugging. It wasn't until after we sat down in a restaurant, ordered, and started our glass of wine that we realized it was in fact 0.20! Ah, well...we both had a good laugh and then a good meal. Afterwards, we went dancing in some salsa joint and then more dancing in a bar called "Au Soleil." By the end of the evening, I realized we had both managed to talk to almost everybody in the bar. Funny what champagne does to me.
Anyway, an overall successful New Year's. Excellent company, wonderful city, quality atmosphere, and no excessive drinking (unlike a lot of people seen around the city streets). Sergio and I made it to the 7.40 train (yes, to Belgium and back in roughly ten hours) and took a few quick pics. Remember, this is me after driving for three hours, sitting on an airplane/in an airport for over 20, riding a train for an hour and a half, and then managing somehow to dance for five. Youth is beautiful. But I'm not looking tip top.
I fell asleep roughly 45 seconds after taking these pictures. Slept without waking up once on the hour-and-a-half-long trip back to Paris. Had heavy eyelids the entire way back on the Metro. Struggled walking up my six flights of stairs. Fell asleep (again) at 9.40 a.m., January 1. I technically had last gotten out of bed at 7.25 am on December 30 in Duluth, Minnesota.
Not a bad way to start the year.
